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Ninian bit her lip, thinking. Obviously, Siegell wanted her to stay, but she wasn't convinced his reasons were entirely because he was hurt. Nevermind that she was tired, Nils was still downstairs. She couldn't go to sleep before she made sure he was comfortable.

"I'm sorry, Siegell," she began, "but I have to see if Nils is alright."

Smiling apologetically at him, she turned, not quite running to open the door. Closing it behind her before Siegell could object, she made her way back downstairs to find her brother. She found him standing by Father Renault.

To her eyes, he looked tired and battered, but otherwise alright. She told herself she hadn't run from Siegell--it wasn't proper for a woman to be alone with a man not her husband--but she knew she was lying to herself. She turned her attention to Nils.

"Nils?" she asked. "Did Father Renault finish healing you?"

"I'm fine, Nils," she assured him, smiling sadly. "I had an elixir, so our healers need not worry about me and focus on healing those who are hurt worse than I."

She moved to sit next to him, her feet sighing with relief. She leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closing for a moment. She forced them open, turning her head to look at Nils.

"It's been a long day," she said softly. "I'm only tired, that's all. . . ."

Tired was a bit of an understatement. Now that she'd finally sat down, she wasn't likely to get up anytime soon. However, sleeping like this would leave her sore in the morning, as if she wasn't sore enough.

As soon as the door closed behind Ninian, Siegell narrowed his eyes and sat up. "You get your fine a** back here," he grumbled under his breath, but after a moment he flopped back again and sighed. Might as well get some actual rest, he supposed. Going after her wasn't an option, way too suspicious and weird. It occurred to him that it wasn't even terribly late, but people were apparently getting very tired quickly.

Including him, come to think of it. Healing took a lot of energy out of him. He closed his eyes, still scooted over on the Queen-size bed, and drifted off to sleep.

Tibarn sighed softly, listening as Ayra took baby Vah from her Aunty Lyre, and slowly pulled off the black cloth that covered the back of his hand and wrapped around his forearm. It was cast into the corner, and the bindings around his arms and palms were then loosened and allowed to fall in untidy coils at his feet.

He stepped out of his boots, eyes fixed on the bed as he listened to the creak of a rocking chair and the soft sound of Ayra allowing Vah to finish her meal. His hands fumbled for a moment, and then the enormous belt he wore over his coat swung out from his right hand and draped haphazardly over the back of a chair. He shrugged his shoulders and lowered his wings while he took another step forward, dropping his infamous green overcoat in a heap.

As Vaherianslyeri was put down to bed in her crib, the Hawk King untied the red cloth around his forehead and tossed it into the chair, then loosened the bindings around his torso and let them drop to the floor. Savoring the feel of cool air against his abdominals, he stood for just one long moment and then collapsed on the bed.

Ayra sighed. Under normal circumstances, she would make him put his clothes where they belonged (or, of course, she’d be in bed waiting for him), but she decided to let him rest today. She picked his boots up and placed them by the door, then gingerly picked up and threw away the sweaty bindings he’d left. The glove and headband were tossed into a hamper before she sighed and picked up his overcoat.

She turned it over in her hands and began to fold it over her arm when something dropped out of a pocket and clattered noisily on the floor. Perplexed, the swordmistress bent down and picked up a little silver ring.

Hell of a rock on that thing.

She turned, holding it up to the light, and then looked toward her mate. She opened her mouth to inquire—

He was smiling, and had rolled up onto his side. He gave a wry little chuckle and sighed, “Not exactly what I had in mind…” One large hand reached out and closed around Ayra’s gently, drawing her close and ushering her to sit on the bed. “I was going to ask you when you got back,” he murmured, taking the ring and rubbing her palm with calloused fingertips. He watched her fingers clench, then slowly extend, and he lifted her left hand to his lips, kissing her lightly on the knuckles.

Slowly, he slid the ring onto her finger. And, because there are some questions that need to be asked, even when both parties know the question and answer:

“Ayra, will you be my wife?”